


megalithic symphony

by weavermoon (staalesque)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Recovery, Resurrection, Visions, ambiguous timeline, religious worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staalesque/pseuds/weavermoon
Summary: When he wakes up, all he knows is the press of a woman’s hand to his shoulder. He looks up and sees her - familiar as ever, though he cannot begin to place her into any of his lack of memories, he can only conjure up the image of a crescent moon on its side, bracketed with two arrows, intertwined with a bolt of silver in the night sky. She crouches before him, long white hair loosely braided and limbs seeming to fizzle out at the edges. She brings darkness to this bed of soil, which raises a question - his first coherent thought - that he cannot voice aloud. She seems to understand, and she raises a finger to her lips to quiet his enquiry.





	1. party on tilt

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever cr fic, and of course i immediately go for resurrection. geography is loosely followed, canon even looser; all information i have is from the cr wiki or episodes 1-16, as that's about where i am in the series. this first chapter has very little of the mighty nein in it, but rest assured, they'll show up in the following chapter! 
> 
> title comes from awolnation's album of the same name (i was listening to sail when i came up with the plot for this work), and the chapter title comes from [sunflower](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApXoWvfEYVU)

When he wakes up, all he knows is the press of a woman’s hand to his shoulder. He looks up and sees her - familiar as ever, though he cannot begin to place her into any of his lack of memories, he can only conjure up the image of a crescent moon on its side, bracketed with two arrows, intertwined with a bolt of silver in the night sky. She crouches before him, long white hair loosely braided and limbs seeming to fizzle out at the edges. She brings darkness to this bed of soil, which raises a question - his first coherent thought - that he cannot voice aloud. She seems to understand, and she raises a finger to her lips to quiet his enquiry. 

“The first time this happened, I woke you with nothing to go on. A worshipper is rare this deep in the Empire, and I took a chance on a prayer half-whispered in my name. You were worth my energy in your first resurrection.” Her voice is young, smooth yet mature, and her large white eyes look like two full moons, craters and all. He goes to speak, and all that comes out is a rusted, painful wheeze. Perhaps for the best; come to think of it, he has no language to lean on at the current moment, and he cannot speak in pictures. 

She gives him a sympathetic look, her white brows furrowing together. “This time, I have more to go on. You’ve lived a fuller life these past two years than you ever had before. You’ve given me two things worth saving, and I give the first to you now.” Gentle fingers caress their way up his neck, making him tremble in the midnight snow. They trace over his lips, dirtied and cracked with soil, but as she does so his mind fills with two simple words. 

_ Mollymauk Tealeaf.  _ They seem important, and when she takes her hand away he leans forward to follow, unsure of what to do with this information. She explains no further, instead leaning closer to him as she reaches above his head, to a snow soaked and frozen coat, stuck to a stick behind him. Her slim hand digs around in the pocket, but his body aches too much to turn and follow the movement. 

“The second is in your pocket,” she murmurs, lifting her head with a smile. “Take this coat with you, Mollymauk, and if you ever need guidance, pray to it. I shall hear.” 

_ Mollymauk.  _ That must be his own name, if she were to refer to him by that. He still cannot speak, yet he yearns to be brought closer to her, to not be alone in this terrible wasteland. The fear, the cold, and the moderate darkness - though the light of the full moon makes him feel safe, in this moment - drives a cold stake into his heart. He touches the space, and finds tender flesh as he looks down, finding a bloodied and torn shirt barely hanging on his body. 

“I cannot give you much more than this, I’m afraid. Walk unbridled and untethered, finding and forging new memories and experiences.” Her benediction given, she stands and gently taps one of his horns as she passes, before walking away. She makes no footsteps in the snow, but Mollymauk knows she’s disappeared. 

With that, he’s left with a handful of thoughts. His name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. The red, blue, silver, and bloodied jacket laying still in the night air above him is his as well. He has a deity, one who has seen and touched him personally, and he feels a quiet blessing in that alone. He was once hurt, but no longer. He is cold, and needs to find some sort of shelter. 

With that, he decides to stand, hauling himself upright on shaky legs that hold none of the same muscle density that he had before. Before what, he doesn’t recall. It takes a few moments of finding his balance again - his tail helps in the endeavor, balancing it out - before he’s able to actually stand, wearing the ruins of another man’s life in the moonlight. He turns, reaching out for his coat, sinking his claws into the multicolored fabric. He supposes that’s really what they are, dark amethyst nails almost three inches in length that are ragged and dirt filled from digging himself out. They’re weapons, and the thought of being armed makes him feel somewhat safer. 

Mollymauk pulls the coat on around him, the bloodsoaked and tattered back not providing much by way of residual warmth. Dirt crumbles down his back as the fabric ruffles his hair, drawing a raspy hiss. It takes a while to pull the hair out, all of it, and it falls in a matted mess almost to his waist. It’s bound to be longer, once it actually gets cleaned up and unknotted, and the thought fills him with some kind of esoteric emotion that settles over him with a wave of confusion. Out of everything going on in this situation, he’s fixating on his hair.

The thought brings a small smile to his lips, though he’s not sure what he’s smiling about. 

With what feeble strength he has, he manages to wrench the stick out of the ground, removing his grave marker and turning it into some kind of a walking stick. It’s with this improvised traveling method that he makes his way out of the field and back to what he estimates is a relatively well traveled road, though from here he knows not where he should go. He reaches down into his sides, feeling the space in the coat to allow for….something. He reached there instinctively, it must hold  _ some  _ meaning to him. Or, maybe it did. 

For now, he continues until he finds a pocket, the one touched by the small woman from before. He pulls out six small playing cards, the back design looking oh so familiar to him, like he should know what it is but he just can’t...put it together. Yet as he flips them over, he’s met with six portraits, one on each card. A smiling blue tiefling, a reserved pale woman, a dirty human man, a smirking human woman, a shifty looking goblin, and a half-orc with scars littered across his face. None of them have names on the cards, but they were a gift enough to be held in his hands. Scanning through the pictures, he feels almost like a teasing amount of prickling on his subconscious - something’s there, but he can’t begin to put them together. 

The pale woman and the dirty human give Mollymauk pause, for different reasons. The pale woman, as stern as she looks in the picture, invokes a kind of desperate warmth in Mollymauk’s chest, a need to be held close and safe. He feels an overwhelming guilt that he cannot remember her name, but he can remember his own name, and maybe that was the trade off? The dirty human gives him much of the same emotion, but with a different flavor to it. Less desperation, more...hollow. A need left unfulfilled, from the past life to the next. 

Mollymauk collects the cards again together, leaving the pale woman’s face pressing close to his chest as he closes his eyes and bows his head. He wants some guidance, some kind of sign, and as he does this, two things happen at once. 

First: a crescent moon pendant falls from his horn, landing at the dirt in front of him. The moonlight hits it, illuminating the pearl carving on the frozen ground. 

Second: everything around him falls into shadow, save for the glowing pendant, which rises up from the dirt, and points off to the southwest, beaming off into nothingness. He blinks a few times, before turning and following the trajectory of the light. It never wavers; it only points out over the distant mountains to the southwest, dead set on encouraging him to go along that path. He wraps the coat around him, another question curling at the tip of his tongue, longing to be set free. 

He needs shelter, and he needs it  _ now.  _ The pendant doesn’t move, and as Mollymauk finds himself incapable of speech, he doesn’t know how to communicate this desire with either the pendant nor its patron. He takes a step forward. 

Then, in some blur of shadow and dark, he finds himself standing at the doorway to a small building, in a landscape free of snow yet just as dark. He goes to knock on the door, but as he raises his hand it opens, revealing a young woman who looks shocked. Mollymauk supposes that is to be warranted - above his head, he can see the moon pendant still floating and glowing, and he’s covered in dried blood and grave dirt. He makes quite the picture. 

He tries to speak, but only the same rattling hiss from before tears through his throat, causing him to start coughing. The girl mutters something under her breath and reaches out to him, wrapping her arms around him in a genuine but still weak grasp, helping him over the threshold and into the room. 

“That’s it, there you go,” she murmurs, in a voice that nudges something in the back of Mollymauk’s mind, but not enough to stir anything. She takes him through the room, and he doesn’t notice much other than there doesn’t appear to be anyone else present, and he seems to be in a house of some kind. She takes him into the back of the house, into a room that has a large silver basin of hot water prepared, a roaring fireplace sending tendrils of orange light flickering across the hardwood floor, and a fairly large pile of cloth and soaps set off to the side. “She told me you would be in a rough state, but I didn’t realize how bad it would be.” 

_ Who told you?  _ The question remains unspoken, but when she looks up to him he’s startled to see such dark eyes. This girl appears to be human, with pale skin and white hair, and a black pentagram tattooed in the middle of her forehead. Her lips, lashes, and brows are inky black, and her ears are littered with silver piercings. He sees a moon pendant on a necklace, not dissimilar from his own that had since returned to his horn since he had entered the space. 

“I know that this is a weird situation,” she begins. “My name is Fie. I, too, worship The Moonweaver. She talks to me sometimes, and she warned me of your arrival. Though I’m no cleric, I’m fairly good with patching up physical issues...bodies and cloth alike.” Fie motions to his tattered shirt, and Mollymauk feels a hint of a smile trying to grace itself across his chapped and bleeding lips. 

“There’s time for that later. Strip,” she commands, testing the water with her hand. Mollymauk watches the steam rise up as he drops his coat from his body, clumsy and long-clawed fingers tugging at what remains of his shirt. Fie’s slim hands join in the help, and he notices that her fingers are blackened, streaking up until the digits join with her hand and her pale skin continues. 

“I’m a performer, I sing at a few clubs here and there,” she murmurs, untucking his shirt from his leggings and bringing it up over his head. It’s a complicated process that has Fie standing on her tiptoes trying to help the shirt over his horns and then down his hair. “The makeup is sort of a part of that, but there are some things that I don’t bother to part with, even on my days off.” 

Next come his boots and leggings, leaving him in a warm room with hardly any clothes on. She turns to collect his clothing off the floor and begins to place it on a small table he hadn’t noticed was present before. “I can wash these later,” she offers. 

Mollymauk nods and takes the opportunity to stick his hand into the bathwater. It’s pleasantly warm, and he longs to be in it. So he quickly sheds his small clothes and steps into the water, which immediately begins to turn a murky, rusted reddish-brown from all of the dirt and blood on his body. His tight muscles begin to relax with the warmth, and though it looked hot from outside the tub, now he just feels downright cozy. 

Fie approaches, quietly setting three stools on the side of the tub. Two of the stools hold smaller buckets, one with warm water in it, and the third Fie sits in. She dips one of the cloths into the warm bucket of water, then reaches out towards Mollymauk’s arm. “May I? I’m impressed you could even get into the tub yourself - you’ve traveled a long way in a short amount of time.” 

Mollymauk turns to look at her and sees a patient smile on her face. He waits for a moment before reaching out, setting his hand on hers. (Absently, he notices that the black on her fingers doesn’t seem to run from the water, and it doesn’t come off on his own skin.) Fie then spends the rest of the night bathing and caring Mollymauk, helping to clean the past from his body. Slowly, his muscles relax, and she talks to him while she files his claws down to a manageable length (which she lets him dictate) and gives him tea to help soothe his throat. She changes the water several times, though over time it becomes less a cleaning solution and more of a relaxation pool. He recalls falling asleep as she moved behind him, beginning the long and arduous process of washing and untangling all of his hair, even going as far as to wash his horns, to clean the dirt out of the jewelry and grooves in the bone. 

When he wakes up, he’s lying on something incredibly soft, and he feels like he can breathe fully for the first time since waking up yesterday. He hears a male and female voice speaking, and as he blearily opens his eyes, he can just make out the shape of Fie with her back towards him, and a black male tiefling with white eyes speaking with her. They seem to be the inverse of each other, like yin and yang, and the coloring makes Mollymauk wake up a little bit more. Perhaps something new is here? 

He looks over her shoulder - not hard for him to do, as he’s about two inches taller than her - and blinks those bright white eyes at Mollymauk. Even from here, he can make out the gold crescents in where Mollymauk assumes his iris’ would be. They stare at each other for a second, before Fie turns around, eyes lighting up. 

“You’re awake! It’s mid-afternoon, I was starting to get worried.” She then gestures to the dark tiefling beside her, who remains staring at Mollymauk. “This is Novix. He was the one who helped me get you out of the tub last night. You were sleeping like the dead, no pun intended. But I couldn’t lift you myself. I have tea, if you want? It should help your throat, I use it after all of my performances.” 

Mollymauk finds himself overwhelmed with the information, and out of habit - when did he get those? - he reaches up to run his hands through his hair. Instead, his fingers get trapped in formerly neat plaits down his scalp, and he realizes then that his hair has been artfully braided sometime while he was unconscious. Sitting up doesn’t make his muscles protest nearly as much as he expected them to, but it still hurts a bit. 

“I did your hair, I hope that’s alright?” Fie speaks up again, walking into the room and settling a hand on Mollymauk’s shoulder. “It’s easily undone if not.” 

He looks up at her and smiles slightly, exposing fangs that had clinked against the tea cups all night long, but hadn’t broken any just yet. “...Tea,” he manages to say, though it doesn’t match the Common Fie had been speaking to him in. It’s scratchier, grated and dark, and while part of that is the pain of disuse in his vocal chords, he thinks there’s something deeper there. However, neither Novix nor Fie look confused at what he’s said, and they both nod in understanding. 

“Of course! Nov, could you?” 

“Yeah.” The tiefling leaves the room, walking into the kitchen space further into the house. 

Finally sitting up, Mollymauk looks around. The room appears to be a living space, with a multitude of couches and soft armchairs filling the space. A plush white carpet fills the center of the room, and the walls are covered in different tapestries depicting musicians and dancers from a multitude of different climates and races, judging by their clothing. There’s a large case along the eastern wall that holds several instruments Mollymauk does not recognize, and quite a few books that he can only guess have to do with the instruments in question. Some are stringed with bows and without, and some look to be drums of some kind. The room is surprisingly warm, considering that most everything in it is either black, white, grey, or silver. Mollymauk is the most colorful thing in the entire room, sitting on a worn and comfortable black couch. 

He’s wearing a white robe that’s warm and thick, perhaps made of the same thing that the towels were last night. Looking directly in front of him, he sees the front door - a tall black oak door with a white porcelain door knob. He doesn’t remember much by way of money, but he gets the overwhelming sense that this isn’t just something someone lives in. It’s a display, and comfortable but...cold, at the same time. 

Novix comes back into the room, setting down a silver tray with a tea kettle and two cups in saucers, a small pot of honey, and some sugar. Mollymauk notices that his arms are wrapped in bandages, so comprehensively that they do not allow any skin to show, before disappearing into black cloth sleeves. Abruptly, he remembers green and pale skin - two separate beings, one with wrappings all around and another contained, just to the arms, like Novix. But then the image is gone, leaving him to focus on the tray being set down before him. 

The cups are a white porcelain as well, with small black stars painted across them, almost dripping from the solid black rim of the cup. In the bottom, he can see a silvery moon painted inside before it’s obscured by a herbal smelling tea that Fie pours for him. 

“I’m going to be gone for a few days,” Novix says, still standing as Fie prepares the tea. Mollymauk reaches forward with thin fingers, tapping the honey pot and ignoring the sugar. Fie obliges, scooping some honey onto the wooden wand and then drizzling it into Mollymauk’s cup. 

“I know. You’re heading out West, yeah?” Fie asks. 

Mollymauk feels a bit like he’s intruding on a moment, but he doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about - or even where he is. He taps Fie’s wrist and she rolls the wand swiftly, cutting off the flow of honey and then sticking it back into the honey pot. She hands him a silver spoon, further engraved with stars and moons, and he slowly, with utmost concentration, begins to stir the tea to encourage the honey to melt into the drink. 

“Yeah. Send word if you need anything. You’ll be here.” It sounds like it should have been a question, but instead comes out as a statement of truth. Fie nods, and Mollymauk finishes stirring his tea. With careful fingers, and under Fie’s careful watch, he brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip.

It’s a complete action, one he’s taken by himself, and he feels a warm emotion unfurl in his chest. When he looks up, Fie is smiling encouragingly at him, while Novix looks unperturbed. He smiles, noticing that his lips don’t crack as he does so anymore, and it feels...really nice. Briefly, he has a nagging thought that he’s done this before, albeit with more people and not in this space, but the thought is gone before he can really analyze it. 

It does trigger him to set the tea down and reach for his coat, though. 

“I’m going to be late, so…” 

“Oh! Yes, yeah, here.” Fie gets up, reaching over to where Mollymauk is leaning and handing his coat to him, before wrapping her arms around Novix. She whispers something to him, a sentence that doesn’t really make sense, but Mollymauk is more focused on digging through his pockets until he finds what he was looking for. The six cards are still in his pocket, each still showing the portraits from before. Nothing has changed, but now - warmer, cleaner, and better fed than before, Mollymauk really looks at them, trying to see what memories they can kickstart. 

Distantly, he hears the front door open and close, and then Fie sits down beside him, picking up her tea cup and taking a sip. “Who are they?” she asks, and Mollymauk shrugs, the movement natural to him. 

“Okay, fair enough. Next question - who are you?” 

Mollymauk looks at her, brows raised. Hadn’t she said that she had known of his arrival? Someone had told her, and she’d prepared for him? 

Fie reads the look on his face, before dark painted lips parted in a sheepish smile. “She told me to expect someone, but she did not specify much more beyond that. Do you...do you know your name?” 

Mollymauk slowly nods, taking another sip of tea to warm his throat. “Mollymauk,” he murmurs, his tail curling and uncurling in his lap, a nervous habit he supposes. “Mollymauk Tealeaf.” 

“Mollymauk...that’s a pleasant name,” she says, polishing off her tea and then reaching forward to pour herself another cup. “Well, I’m Fie, as you know. I’m a performer, a singer and a dancer, among other things, at various bars and social clubs here in Zadash.” 

_ Zadash.  _ The word kicks up a series of memories, of sewers and bath houses and late nights and lots of gold. He remembers shops and armor, explosions and waiting watch, and then it all fades away. Still tingling at the back of his head, but long gone from recall. 

“...and he’s alright, I suppose. The job helps me to pay for all of this, and Novix chips in occasionally. But, uh. Enough about me. We need to get you healed up, cleaned up, healthy, that sort of thing.” 

Mollymauk lifts his head towards her, noticing the sunlight coming in from the broad windows of the room. It’s not too busy outside currently, the streets lacking the usual hawking of vendors that Mollymauk seems to attach to Zadash. The sunlight is bright, brighter than he can recall, and Fie follows his gaze out the windows. “The winter sun is bright for those who deal in shadow. We did get snow, pretty early this year. Cuersaar typically doesn’t get us much, especially not this early.” 

He nods, distracted. Something nags at the back of his head, and he turns to her, biting his lip softly - careful not to draw his own blood - before he continues, “What day?” 

Fie gives a knowing smile. “Today marks the Night of Ascension. Cuersaar 13th. You, Mollymauk, appeared on my doorstep at the stroke of midnight.” 

Outside, a raven caws. Fie laughs. Mollymauk feels as if he’s missed something, but he’s not unacquainted with such an emotion.

 

* * *

 

Over the next couple of weeks, Mollymauk and Fie work together to get Mollymauk back to full strength. He finds that walking and hand-eye coordination come back to him incredibly fast, something that he wouldn’t have expected given the amount of scars on his body. Talking is slow going, but Fie understands everything he says. Eventually, she tells him that the reason he might be confusing himself is because he’s slipping back and forth between two languages: Common and Infernal. He didn’t realize that he knew two languages, but she simply shrugs and tells him that it’s a tiefling thing, that both she and Novix understand both of those languages and that no matter what, she’ll get the gist of what he’s trying to say. 

At night, Fie prays to The Moonweaver, setting aside crystals to charge in the moonlight, alongside select jewelry. Mollymauk joins her a few times, though nothing happens as direct as the night when he had awoken, clawing himself out of his own grave. His moon pendant glows every once in a while, particularly when he spends too long pouring over the six cards, studying each face and begging for even one name, even one memory to jump to the fore. 

Traveling in Zadash proves to be quite overwhelming at first, so Fie keeps him in the Tri-Spires. Everyone gives the two of them looks, but Fie greets them with a flirty smile that seems colder than when she does it at home. Those that meet her gaze either quickly look away, or hold it, the two parties staring each other down as they continue. Eventually, Fie takes Mollymauk to the Meal Hearth, where they get some plain pastries that serve to be Mollymauk’s first solid food. He’d moved up from tea to low content soups and broths, before finally making it up to finely baked croissants and loaves of bread. 

Visiting a few jewelers, Fie orders a handful of pendants and necklaces that Mollymauk had been looking at through the windows as they passed. She helps him weave them into his hair, sometimes in a loose braid, other times long and flowing. He feels a certain attachment to the necklaces and other adornments that he had woken up with, but he’s not opposed to accumulating a little bit more. They’re made of different metals, some with jewels and some without, but Fie seems happy to help pay for them until they get Mollymauk some form of income.

Walking around, certain places trigger memories, and Fie works to either bring Mollymauk to those places - upon his request - or to keep him away from them, if he doesn’t want to remember. The Gilded Willows, and the slow reconstruction of a building that once rested within iron gates, prove to be the worst place to try to bring him. He remembers fire smoking out of the building, of panicked exits towards sewers, and an overwhelming need to  _ escape.  _

Multiple times, Mollymauk finds himself drawn to a singular alleyway in the Tri-Spire, staring down at the locked sewer grate in the ground. The first time he darts off in that direction, it’s because the Crownsguard had gotten a little snippy with Fie when she was walking with Mollymauk, arm in arm from the bakery. Fie had run after him, and when she’d found him, she’d cautiously approached, softly whispering, “So you do remember.” Mollymauk hadn’t had it in him to correct her - but maybe he did remember a little something, because it keeps happening. 

Eventually, Fie takes him out of the Tri-Spire, showing him the rest of the city, including the Pentamarket, the King’s Hall, and various other little shops. When they pass the Leaky Tap, Mollymauk is abruptly hit with the image of late night conversations, talks of morals and of praying over two swords made of carnival glass, partnering up to keep watch, and a single name:  _ Fjord.  _

He digs into his pocket, pulling out the six cards, and flips to the card with the scarred half-orc. On the bottom of the card, in a small blank space where he assumed the meaning of the cards would have been written, he sees in a messy scrawl... _ something  _ appears. “Fie,” he calls, and the young girl looks up at him from where she’d been patiently standing. “What does this say?” 

She looks at it with furrowed brows, her black hood up to keep her warm. “Fee-yord? Or Ford. The J might be silent. Why, does that mean something to you? Do any of the other cards have names?”

Mollymauk flips through the rest, but they all remain blank. Yet this half-orc,  _ Fjord _ ...it means something. “...I think he was a friend,” he finally admits, and Fie grins, leaning into wrap her arms around him in a hug. 

“You’re coming along faster than I would have thought, Mollymauk. She smiles on you,” Fie murmurs into his chest. 

Mollymauk wraps his arms around her for a second, before pausing and quietly whispering, “It’s Molly, to my friends. And we’re friends now, aren’t we?” 

Fie leans back, grinning widely in the snowfall. The city around them, this far away from the Tri-Spire, is noisy and busy. The streets are lined with brown snow, from mud and horse manure as the carts roll by, and smoke spirals up into the midday sky from the various establishments around. But here, holding a deck of cards and a newfound friend, Molly feels a little bit more at ease. 

When they make their way back to Fie’s home, Novix is by the fireplace, jabbing at the coals with the fire poker. Molly and Fie kick their boots off, Fie moving to the crouching tiefling and starting to talk to him. Leaving them to their devices, Molly makes his way upstairs to the room that had unofficially become his. 

It’s large but simple, with a vanity that covers most of the eastern wall. The large windows look out over Zadash’s many streets, over the gilded walls of the Tri-Spire and into the Interstead Sprawl. The room has hardwood floors with a black carpet, and what looks to be silver filings pressed to some kind of adhesive in patterns along the walls of the room. Sleeping in it feels open and safe, like Molly’s being cradled by silver reeds and moonlight. The sheets are soft, softer than anything Molly can remember being touched by, despite the new clothes that Fie had given him while she mended the clothes he had arrived in. 

His colorful coat, leggings, and boots were in the standing closet to the side, along with other cloaks and coats for going out, shopping, or braving the winter. Molly makes his way over to his bed, digging his hand into the cloak he wore and pulling out the six cards. The half-orc stares up at him, with  _ Fjord  _ written on the bottom. 

“Fjord,” he says softly, turning the card this way and that to see if he could jog any other types of memories. Nothing comes, and he makes a quiet resolution to pray tonight, using his coat as guidance. Not the thick dark ones that Fie had provided him with, but the colorful multitude of religious symbols he had wrapped around himself all those nights ago. “Who were you?” 

He reaches down to the end of his braid, beginning to undo it. The repetitive action makes him calm as he traces his gaze over the colorful portraits before him. Maybe these people were still in the city? There’s nothing but humans and halflings in the city, although the Fie seems to know an odd number of tieflings for this type of place. Surely a half-orc would stand out? 

Molly supposes he could ask around, if he wanted to, but he’s not sure he wants to share. He almost wants to keep them safe, though from what, he doesn’t know. They might not even still be in Zadash, for all he can recall. Which, isn’t much. 

Anxious in his thoughts, he chews on his lower lip, and his fangs pierce the lavender skin. His mouth fills with copper, before, abruptly, there’s the texture of something cold and smooth on his lip. He freezes, and reaches up to his mouth - sure enough, it’s cold, whatever it is, and it’s not just a trick of his tongue. He stands and goes to the vanity, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Like the silver leaf stuck to the wall, a sliver of ice sits within Molly’s lip. It shines in the light, and it hurts a little bit. A morbid curiosity takes over, and he brings his wrist to his mouth, slicing shallowly against his fangs. This time, the blood runs down his wrist untouched, but the fang he had used glows a bright white that lights up his whole mouth. Molly can’t help the startled shriek he lets out, before clamping his hand over his mouth, careful to close it. 

Fie appears in the doorway, holding a dagger in her hand. She looks uncharacteristically intent, but not at Molly - rather like she’s ready for anything. “Molly? What’s wrong?” 

Slowly he lets his hand fall to his side, the blood dripping down his palm. He opens his mouth, staring at his reflection as his tooth continues to glow, the ice in his lip remaining present. She comes over, flipping the dagger so the blade lays along her forearm, and gently reaches up to his chin, getting a better look at the undeniable magic in his mouth. “How long have you known you could do this?”

“What is this?” he asks, hesitant to speak. No additional pain comes, just light brightening and dimming as his lips move around his teeth, the ice scraping occasionally against a tooth. 

“Blood magic, specifically for bloodhunters,” Fie murmurs. “You’ve had quite the life haven’t you, Molly?” 

He gets hit with a memory of training - in a tent maybe? Colorful and warm - with two colorful scimitars, each of them coated in a layer of ice as his own blood trickles down his back. Then the memory is replaced with the first time he made one of his scimitars glow, and the irony of invoking  _ Rite of the Dawn  _ as a worshipper of the moon. 

Distantly, he can feel himself nodding in agreement to her question. The young girl sighs and goes into the bathroom to help him clean up. Somehow, the ice in his lip fades away, replaced with regular flesh, and his fang stops glowing. Once the magic has passed, Molly has dinner with his two hosts - or, rather his one host, he’s not entirely sure how Novix fits into the situation - and then returns to his room. The sun has set, the full moon risen above the city, and Molly realizes it’s been about a month since he had woken up. 

He’s no closer to finding the answers he’s looking for, he only knows one out of the six faces, and even that’s a loose connection at best. So he spreads his colorful coat on the floor, in direct line of the window letting in the moonlight, and begins to pray. Even though his eyes are closed, he feels the room get darker, covered in shadow, and the next thing he sees is somewhere in his mind's eye. Distantly, he knows that he’s still kneeling on the floor of his bedroom in Zadash, but what he sees instead is a beach. 

Warm sprawling sands and clear blue waters, the bustle of beach goers and traffic. It’s so much warmer than he thinks it ought to be, this far along in the winter. Out at sea, he can see one large ship, but nothing any more detailed than that. Softly, slowly, he feels compelled to make his way towards it. It’s not too far off; the people on board have probably left it there while they went on shore. He tries to move toward the ship, but every step he takes seems to be getting him nowhere. Annoyed, he stops and turns around, looking behind him. 

Seven beings stand before him, six of them the same from his cards. They’re blank faced, not reacting to his presence, but the seventh one - a tall, pink haired firbolg - meets his gaze.

“Who are you?” Molly asks. None of the six figures respond - they look older than he recalls, they look tougher and more powerful and more threatening, yet he  _ longs  _ to know what has happened since he was gone. The firbolg, however, gives him a warm smile. 

“I am Caduceus Clay. I’ve made your acquaintance once before, but I’m afraid it was rather one-sided.” Caduceus seems intrigued by his appearance, but not defensive or afraid. It’s moderately welcome, but Molly really just wants his friends back.

Molly furrows his brows in confusion. He’s never met this man before in his life, but maybe he’s supposed to be somewhere else now. “Where is this place?” 

“This is the Menagerie Coast, friend. Nicodranas, technically. Though I’m unsure how you expect to get through the mountains with all of the snow.” 

The Menagerie Coast brings a memory to his mind, but he dismisses it, attempting to take a step forward. He can’t get any purchase, and he finds himself stuck in place, only able to turn but unable to progress. But Caduceus approaches, looking down at him with the near foot difference they have between them. They study each other, crimson and pink eyes meeting, Molly clenching his fists in agitation. 

“Can you tell me their names?” 

“Ah, I’m afraid I-” He trails off, one ear twitching as he tilts his head slightly to the side. Then a smile graces his face, and he turns to the side, allowing Molly to see the line up of vacant faces again. “She says you may choose two.” 

He already knows the half-orc from his adventures earlier in the day, and while he trusts that the rest are important, he’s drawn back to the tall pale woman with wild black and white hair, and the dirtied human man standing next to her. He has longer hair now than his portrait would have led Molly to believe, and he looks stronger - not as gaunt as before. He gestures to those two, and Caduceus seems to soften for a moment, before murmuring, “Of course, of course.” 

“The woman is Yasha, Yasha Nyoordin, and the man is Caleb. Caleb Widogast.” They don’t move in response to their names being spoken, but the names seem to set loose an explosion of memories and emotions, from days with the circus to days on the road, fighting gnolls, will o wisps, fiends, and more, talking over who is allowed to steal from who and who isn’t, sharing tents and inn rooms and watching over each other, and falling…

With a gasp, Molly sits up from where he was kneeling on the floor.  _ Yasha. Caleb. Fjord. Jester. Beau. Nott. _ The cards he didn’t remember laying out over the coat each stare up at him, the portraits altered slightly to show how they look now, rather than how they looked before. And each, Molly assumes, has their name inscribed below. He looks up to the full moon, his vision blurring with tears, as he whispers, “Thank you.” 

He has to get to Nicodranas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on twitter @weavermooon if you want to talk / check out [this awesome artwork](https://twitter.com/PandaMeNope/status/1079125118025191425) for an idea of how molly looks in this 
> 
> inspiration for molly's cards containing his friends faces came from [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQvh0dnBZSg) which i definitely recommend watching
> 
> comments much appreciated!


	2. way up, way up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd, and churned out in short order because i leave the country tomorrow for a full week and i wanted to get this to you all before i left! chapter title from [burn the house down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0fC-qGqTt8), which is really a quite appropriate song for the m9

Fie doesn’t seem to share his urgency. “Molly, it’s the middle of Duscar, the Amber Road is going to be a mess and a half if we try to travel anywhere now. Besides, there’s certain festivals to be had, and I can’t just take off of work. If you need to go right now, you’d have to go alone. But I really would advise against that, the bandits on these roads can be dangerous.” 

Molly doesn’t want to come across as a petulant child, but he knows that time is of the essence. He  _ has  _ to get to them, before they move on without him. He’s not even sure how he was able to talk to that Caduceus Clay in that prayer-dream they had seemed to share. He’s also not sure how to get ahold of him, to tell him not to tell the others that he’s alive, that he’s trying to come back. Mostly, he wants the surprise for himself, but there’s a part of him that can’t stand letting them know, only to have something nasty befall him and he winds up in a grave again. 

“Fie, please. They’re my friends, my family, my…” His voice falters as he thinks of how much Caleb has changed from his first portrait on the card to his second. Thinking of the changes he wasn’t privy to, the blossoming of Caleb’s personality and physique takes the same hollow warmth from before and adds loss and frustration into an unhealthy mix. He wanted to be there for him, and he had to die. He didn’t even die  _ for  _ Caleb, he died for Beau. She’s worthy of survival in her own right, Molly supposes, but it’s not quite the same. 

“I understand wanting to act as soon as you have information that you desire, I do. It comes up often in my line of work.” There’s a slight grimace to her words, and Molly wonders what information has to do with being a performer. “But you’ll be no use to them if you show up frozen and broke; besides, how are you planning on even getting that far? You can’t just buy a horse, you have no money.” 

The tiefling groans and puts his head in his hands. The various silver and gold pendants clink against his horns, the tinkling sound grounding him. These circular arguments with strong willed women will be the third death of him. Beauregard questioned all, but offered little but sarcastic comments when pushed for further information; Nott only offered information if it would serve herself (a trait Molly begrudgingly admired); and Yasha rarely verbally fought with him, but she made her position quite clear by the time any conversation between the two of them was finished. Perhaps Fie would be the one that bucked the trend? “What would you suppose I do, then?” 

“Stay in Zadash until spring comes. In the meantime secure some type of employment, and save your coin until you can afford enough rations and transportation to get you through the week long journey. I’m happy to have you stay here with me, it’s only a few more months, and besides; maybe I’ll be able to leave with you. Or, maybe Novix can, but he’s on his own schedule.” Fie genuinely sounds sorry, and Molly takes a deep breath through his nose. 

Sitting up, he sees the performer’s dark eyes looking at him, another mug of tea clutched in black tipped fingers. “I really am sorry,” she murmurs, taking a sip of tea. The black paint on the rim matches the lipstick stain left behind on the porcelain. 

“...Fine. I’ll wait until spring. But who do you suppose is going to hire a tiefling, with tattoos, blood magic, and very little memory, in Zadash, a city with mostly humans?” 

“I can think of two places you’d be welcomed, but it would be for longer engagements, and one of them I don’t believe is going to be possible for you. You’ve technically done work for him already, and...well. The Gentleman doesn’t hire just anyone.”

Though she says the words with a matter of fact approach, Molly can see the line of tension running through her body. Abruptly, he remembers where he had heard her voice before, the thing that had been bugging him as soon as she had helped him into her home. 

_ The Mighty Nein sit at the long table facing The Gentleman and Sorah, their goods from their raid on the research facility spread across the table. Molly sits on the end, his tail twitching ever so slightly from where he’d woven it among Caleb’s boots in a show of anxiety. They’re lying by omission, and the research journal is somewhere deep in Beau - or maybe Caleb’s - bags. Molly can perform, he can trust in himself and his ability to take being believed and being found out with equivalent grace. It’s the rest of the group that he can’t trust, and with the way Nott is trembling atop Yasha’s shoulders, they’re all bound to be found out.  _

_ Behind him, in the bustle of the kitchen, he can hear the chef moving around, sliding plate after plate of haphazardly prepared breakfast onto the table. As he leaves, however, the chef appears to talk to someone; someone Molly hadn’t noticed before. None of them had, so caught up with the image of Kutha eating a raw half-pig. It’s a female voice, something light and teasing.  _

_ “What are you doin’ up so early?” the chef calls, still seeming frenzied but wanting to make nice to whoever he’s speaking to.  _

_ “Never went to sleep after last night’s performance. And you know how I love to scope out fresh meat.”  _

_ “Aye, well, they made it back alive. Worse fer wear, but they’re here.”  _

_ “I can see that, thank you.”  _

_ The voices trailed off for a second, and Molly slips back into the tense standoff between The Gentleman and the Mighty Nein. Jester’s fumbling beside Molly, and he comes to her aid with a simple, “Possibly a probing question would remind some things? But I’m trying to remember; it was a bit daunting.”  _

_ The Gentleman doesn’t seem to believe them, Nott is continuing to squirm, and over by the kitchens Molly can hear the girl say, “Oh, they really think they can pull this off. Look, look at the half-orc stuffing his face!”  _

_ Caleb softly starts to mutter to Beau, saying “Give him the book,” repeatedly. It sets up a ruse of reluctance, even though they all know Caleb purposefully stayed behind to read the entire book, cover to cover. There’s nothing that The Gentleman could gain from that tome that the Mighty Nein don’t already know. Slow, saccharine smugness seeps into every stitch on his jacket, and he can feel the tip of his tail sliding up and down Caleb’s calf.  _

_ He means it to come across as supportive, but it comes off a bit flirty. He can’t help it, it’s in his nature.  _

_ Yasha’s stitled “No!” just makes him hide a smile behind his wrist, holding his chin in his right hand as he stares this moist gentleman up and down. They’re both getting what they want out of this, even if they almost pushed this encounter far beyond what it needed to.  _

_ In the brief quiet, that same female voice murmurs, “That’s it, there you go.” She seems amused, if not proud, but by then they’ve gotten what they came for, and take their leave of the Evening Nip.  _

Of course he hadn’t put it together when he had seen Fie; he had never seen her in the first place. He watches as she realizes the connection he’s put together, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. They’re frozen in this endless spiral of possibilities with this unfurling of information. Molly’s next words, and Fie’s words following, could permanently alter the rest of his time here. She has connections, and it’s work that Molly knows he’d be skilled at, but he’s not quite sure he’s ready for combat yet. 

Something’s holding him back, and this calmer, quieter Molly wishes to indulge in the little voice saying  _ no.  _

“Have you told him about me?” Molly asks instead, tilting his head with the inquiry. 

“No, uh. I didn’t tell him that you’d come back, but he has eyes and ears all over this city, and you are the only lavender tiefling that I’ve ever seen in my life, much less the ones in Cree’s memory.” Black brows furrow, and she takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“Mollymauk, I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you. If you want to leave the city, then I can do my best to get you out. I do hope, though, that you can see...why it would be difficult for me to just pack up and leave.” 

He does. He can’t imagine asking for time away from something who could track him no matter where he went, much less for the two weeks that it would take away from being able to work. He finds himself standing at the precipice of possibility, once again, knowing that whatever decision he makes is one that will mold the clay of his life in an irreversible manner. This is the clay that has been shaped by so many other hands and forces of destiny, and he’s lucky enough to have had three lifetimes. 

Lucien, or Nonagon, or whoever that was - he died after being a leader. Mollymauk Tealeaf, of the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities and of the Mighty Nein, had died being a follower. But Mollymauk Tealeaf, twice touched by Sehanine, The Moonweaver, hopefully wouldn’t die for a long time. If that meant keeping out of criminal business and starting over anew, then he was willing to do just that. 

This newfound calm demeanor and decision making had always been a part of Molly’s personality, from the small memories that jump forward here and there. It had always been hidden by bravado and confidence, the glamour and glitter of carnival folk and bloodhunter alike. Perhaps third time really is the charm. 

“I’ll hold you at your word, then. You took me in, and haven’t done anything to put me in harm’s way since I’ve been recovering here. I trust that you’ll keep my presence here as secretive as you can.” 

Fie blinks in surprise, before a slow smile crosses her face. “Really?” 

Molly nods, giving her what he hopes is a reassuring grin. “Of course! Now darling, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go brainstorm what careers I can pick up and leave in four months.” The sound of her laughter follows him out of the sitting room, up the curving stairs, and into his own room. 

He doesn’t pray, not immediately. He can figure this one out on his own. Perhaps the clue lies in his own grave; but that could be on the other side of the Empire, for all he knows. He still doesn’t recall much of the events and circumstances surrounding his own death. The blood spattered on his clothing told him some things about the methods, but he doesn’t recall how it happened, or even who did it. Maybe with time the information would reveal itself, but perhaps it’s for the best that he can’t remember right now. 

A fresh start, free of fear. 

As he reclines on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, he thinks back to the blood magic he had displayed only a night prior. Something nudged at the back of his head, a nagging suspicion that he’d had a bedroom slip up before - or maybe it was purposeful? He gently tugs on the feeling, hoping to uncover the scene, and abruptly he recalls sitting in an inn room in the Leaky Tap, his friends gathered around him as he sat on the floor, being prosecuted for things he couldn’t remember. Jester cast Zone of Truth, and then had leaned forward and asked Molly if he could really tell fortunes.

_ I use fortunes to tell people what I see in them. But sometimes...sometimes I feel like maybe there’s something...that tickles the back of my head a little bit. _

He mouths along with the words as they come back to his memory, his intonation feeling alien even to himself. He truly had been a performer in that past life, and the thought makes him (gently) bite his lip in thought. The carnival had brought that out in him, a way to dazzle and mystify those who got too close in an attempt to hide the void within. He’d been hollow when Gustav had taken him in, and he’d coped with it by not coping at all and charging five copper for the honor of watching the spectacle. This edition of Mollymauk didn’t have to be that way, and it’s unknown territory for him, but most of his life has been unknown to him. He doesn’t even know how old he is, or how much time has passed between Lucien and now. 

This quiet introspective approach to deciding that which he wants to salvage from his old personas and that which he’d rather leave in the dirt he had risen from takes the better part of the following months. Externally, in that time, he made a silent vow to his goddess to only use his gifts - be they magic or some other category - for the protection of himself and those he cared about. (He never quite recovered the memory of what had extinguished him before, but the idea of rushing into combat nauseates him.) And, somewhere along the line, he purchased a deck of tarot cards using coin he’d earned by selling off the old decorations on his horns. He had the simplified silver jewelry that Fie had bought for him at the beginning of his stay, and that was enough for him. 

Molly found freedom in this deconstruction of self. It was during this time he made the decision to pick up tarot card readings again, at first offering them during business hours among the various stands in the Interstead Sprawl, then adding night hours in the Song and Supper Inn, as well as the Leaky Tap. He made a modest amount of money - roughly 516 silver total, minus a few here and there for food and magic tomes. He got a far amount more when Fie invited him along to a party at some dignitary’s house, and he’d done some readings for the guests there. He told them to pay what it was worth, and whether some believed in the power of his cards or simply wanted to display their wealth, he walked out of that night with 40 gold. 

It was enough to secure a cart and horse, some scimitars from the Invulnerable Vagrant (along with a fairly pleasant, if not confusing, conversation with all four Pumat Sols). They weren’t magical, but Molly was okay with that; though he did pick up two daggers as well, just in case. 

By the time the sun rose on the four month mark since Molly’s resurrection, he’s steadier than he thought he would be. Memories still escape him at times, clustered together in his mental shadows, but he’s confident he can live without them. He knows who he is, he has something to fill his days, and quickly his cards become well worn and loved. Occasionally, he hears a soft female voice whispering in his ear insights into the clients sitting before him, but when he asks Fie about it, she gives him an encouraging smile. 

“She talks to me sometimes like that, too. Usually when I’m deciding what job to take, or what version of myself would be the best for a particular task. You know: performer, hostess, lost little girl, prostitute. I have a wide range of talents, and she helps.” 

Fie doesn’t have to explain further than that to get Molly to understand. He’d taken that little bit of conversation with him as he lay his coat out, setting each of the six cards face up on the bold fabric. Kneeling, he bowed his head and began to pray, asking for blessing on his upcoming journey, and for some clarity as to his direction. His mind's eye blinks open, and suddenly he’s standing in the bowels of a ship. 

The scent of salt water is overwhelming, the slow sway of the ship catching him off guard. His eyes quickly adjust to the darkness of the space, dim lamps lighting up the sleeping faces of Caleb and Nott, who don’t stir in their rest. Wishing to leave them be, he turns around, only to come face to chest with the same firbolg from before. 

“So we meet again,” he muses, his rich voice sending a small shiver down Molly’s spine. 

“Yes. I was seeking blessing for my journey to Nicodranas...but if I’m here, I’m not sure that’s where you are,” Molly says, keeping his voice quiet. He’s not sure if Caleb and Nott can even hear him, or if - like the last time this happened - they were there but not entirely. 

“We are currently out at sea,” Caduceus explains as the ship sways, creaking in the night. “But I believe we’ll return to the continent shortly.”

There’s a moment of silence between them, before Molly asks, “Did you tell anyone? About last time, I mean.” 

Caduceus shakes his head. “No. I pray often, and occasionally the Wildmother works in tandem with others who have been shunned. Her day is approaching, and even if we are at sea, it bodes well to speak to those who deserve recognition.” He smiles then, broad and trusting. 

Molly returns the smile, and when Caduceus doesn’t flinch at his still too-sharp fangs, he’s inwardly impressed. “Well, thank you, for that. If you could find some way to...urge them to return to Nicodranas, that would be...the most I could ask for. I won’t be there for a week yet, so. No rush.”

“Of course, Mr. Mollymauk.” 

The one piece of jewelry he hadn’t sold was the moon pendant, still hanging from his left horn. It glows faintly in this divine vision, casting a pearl white glow along Molly’s jaw, and the white sleepshirt Caduceus is wearing. Hanging along his chest, he catches sight of a necklace - one that had been hidden before by armor, or maybe that he just hadn’t noticed on the beach. It’s heartshaped, roughly, and for some reason the image of himself standing in The Invulnerable Vagrant trying to get it to match up with the length of his other necklaces. 

“...Was that mine?” 

Caduceus blushes, his ears dipping a bit as he looks to the side. “Mr. Caleb gave it to me after a series of near-death encounters. It’s been quite useful in light of our recent adventures.” 

Molly blinks, his smile dimming. Of course they would take from his body after he had passed; a dead man has no use for artifacts of healing or monetary value. They couldn’t have known when or how he was going to return, if at all. He had to view this practically. 

The old Mollymauk would have hidden it with a smile and some flirty line, but the behavior pattern fits a little odd. It’s almost more energy than it’s worth, so Molly shrugs, but lets the hurt show a little bit. “I suppose it didn’t quite work for me, but I’m glad it’s working for you. Though, I’m still not really sure how I died, either…” His tail curls around his own leg in a gesture meant to self-soothe, but the gentle pressure of Caduceus’ hand on his shoulder brings him out of it. Maybe he’s not so hurt by the act of taking something from a dead man so much as he is a little blindsided by the fact that it was Caleb of all people. He could see Beau doing it, as an act of pragmatism, or perhaps Caleb taking it for himself. But for Caleb to take it and give it to someone else stings. 

“He was matter of fact with it, if that helps. He claimed that it wasn’t doing him much good, seeing as he stays towards the back of any fights we find ourselves in, and Jester...well she’s a cleric but she prefers a bit more bloodshed than healing. Not to any fault of hers, it’s simply her personality. But as the party’s consistent healer, I suppose it makes sense.” He shrugs, and the necklace turns slightly with the movement. 

“Of course he gave it up, that fool,” Molly mutters, turning to look over his shoulder. Caleb and Nott remain passed out, Caleb’s long hair barely restrained by the leather strap keeping it together. He looks at peace, and Molly feels a hot twist of jealousy for those who got to see him like this during the time Molly had been dead. 

“Like all things that he loves, he doesn’t talk about you much,” Caduceus sighs, his voice sliding further away. “The quieter he is, the more he thinks he has to lose by talking about it. I don’t think any of us expected you to make a return, Mr. Mollymauk; but that doesn’t mean you won’t be welcome.” 

Molly turns to look at the cleric, but he’s gone, replaced with the closed door of whatever room they happen to be in. He tries to take a step forward, and he succeeds, but just as he’s about to reach for the doorway, he returns to his own body seated in Zadash. He’s got a lot more to think about than just how he plans to return to the Mighty Nein, but first, he has to get to Nicodranas.

In the end, both Fie and Novix are able to come with him, though they can only accompany him to the Wuyun Gates at the southernmost edge of the Empire. “We can only get a bit of time off, and since it’ll take us about a week to get just to Trostenwald, we could only swing it a couple of days over two weeks,” Fie explains as they load up their cart with whatever materials they’ll need for the journey. 

Between the three of them, they have ample enough coin to book some inn space and acquire food and drink, but they’ll still wind up sleeping on the side of the road during transportation cycles. Molly takes comfort in traveling in a group like this, though he’s very aware as they leave the gates of Zadash that there’s not nearly as many people as he’s used to. 

Fie takes over driving for the most part, leaving both Novix and Molly to sit in the cart and either keep watch behind them or duck out of view, depending who is going by on horseback. A few times the Crownsguard ride by, but Molly gives them a nod of recognition and Novix steadfastly ignores them, and both parties continue by unscathed. They ride well into the darkness, Novix taking over for Fie around sunset to get a few more hours of slow travel out of their horses before they pause for the night. The two tieflings take first and second watch, letting Fie take the last, which allows her to secure the cart and load up two sleepy tieflings with breakfast before moving on their way. 

They arrive in Alfield after a couple of days spent this way, and while Watchmaster Bryce Feelid seems intrigued by Molly’s association with Fie and Novix - and apparent lack of memory of the time spent there - they don’t press much further. They spend one night in the small town, Molly walking the streets slowly and carefully, recalling a struggle and a celebration in mixed emotions as the living and the dead were brought together in the aftermath of an attack. He doesn’t want to dwell too long on the past, and when some people approach and give him thanks, he takes it graciously, if not feeling a little bad because the man who did those heroic deeds has been dead for some time. 

They have the same reception, more or less, in Trostenwald, where Yorda and Adelaine greet them at the Nestled Nook. Here, Fie does most of the talking, while Molly wrestles with the overwhelming emotion that he’s going about everything backwards. Being in that space makes him think back to when he’d walked in here, Yasha in tow, all glitter and glamour, trying to make a five copper so they wouldn’t starve when they continued on their road. The carnival never had, and while Molly is starting to remember something about a fiend in the Ustaloch, he thinks that’s a stone better left unturned. He enjoyed being able to sleep as it was. There was no sense in dragging up old memories and nightmares. 

With only two more days travel, the trio arrives at the Wuyun Gates, at the very edges of the empire. The Righteous Brand has a few members posted, searching carts and caravans for any items that might not be allowed within the boundaries of the Empire. Molly takes his gear out of the back of the cart, and gives a single nod of acknowledgement to Novix, who looks like he wants nothing more but nothing less than that recognition. 

Fie, on the other hand, throws her arms around him and hugs him tight, burrowing her face in his chest. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, and I don’t know what strings of fate brought you to me, of all people,” she says, her voice measured as she’s trying not to cry. When she pulls back, those dark eyes are wet with unshed tears, and Molly gently hushes her, cradling her cheek in his hand and wiping faint moisture off her pale skin. 

“You’ve helped me more than you can ever know. Your willingness to do that...I believe that may be why she helped us get closer together. I know our paths split here, but I’ll write as often as I can, provided you’ll be at the same address?” he offers. 

She leans into his hand, taking a steadying breath. “Of course, of course. Tell me as much as you can about these friends of yours, when you find them again. They’re...really lucky to have a friend like you. And do let me know how everything goes with Caleb.” 

Molly feels a blush burning at the tips of his pierced ears and across the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course.” 

“Good. Now; walk unbridled and untethered, finding and forging new memories and experiences,” she murmurs. Molly gives her a quizzical look, and she reaches up on her tiptoes and gently tugs him down by his horns to press a kiss to his forehead. “She blesses you. Have fun, be safe, and  _ please  _ do write.” 

With that, she releases him and drifts back to the cart, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. Molly turns to give her privacy and steps into the line to exit the Empire, leaving the realm of everything he’s ever known, once again.

 

* * *

 

A month passes.

In that time, Mollymauk manages to acquire a small two-story building in the Open Quay district. The top floor he shapes into a residential space, while the bottom floor becomes his business. Simply called “Moondrop Fortunes” in homage to the carnival which has given him his first attempt at being Mollymauk, the business slowly begins to attract customers. At first, it’s young kids and teens, looking for trinkets from “the Empire tiefling” as he’s become called, (though he’s not even sure if he can really be called that) or to have their fortunes read. Occasionally, he’s asked to read tea leaves, and eventually he becomes confident enough that he adds it to the services he can provide. 

He stocks up on warm hued, multi-colored tapestries and fabrics that cover every inch of wall and floor space, some draping down from the ceiling in large, lazy loops. Lanterns light the interior of the shop, and he almost always keeps the curtains drawn to avoid people staring in, but also to help keep the quiet atmosphere of the shop. He burns incense and candles alike, playing up to the expectations of those who come to have their fortunes read. Over time, he learns how to braid only sections of his hair, leaving the rest long and flowing, and he returns to weaving the necklaces and chains Fie had ordered for him into his hair. Many rings and bracelets adorn his hands and wrists, and he even has a few custom pieces made for his tail. 

All of that is the business, though. 

Upstairs, the tapestries continue, though they’re in soft greys and whites that play off of the brilliant blue of the sea. Most of his income goes into the displays down below, designed to make the space seem cozy and other worldly, though he did take with him a few crystals from Fie to aid in his prayer. Up here is where he keeps his every day wear, where he can tie his hair up in a loose bun and leave the jewelry out, where he can have a bowl of porridge and relax for a day. He keeps the six tarot cards with his friends faces on them across his desk, between two candles that he lights as he prays at night. They never move, and he selfishly rather likes keeping them to himself, even though he knows he could find them a lot sooner if he went around asking for them. By this time, he’s taught himself how to read extremely basic Common, and it’s through this self-taught mechanism that he realizes each of the names are written in a different script. If he was still a betting man, he’d wager that the names were in their bearer’s handwriting. 

He finds that he likes the separation between a performance and a professional self, though the lines are blurred when his front door swings open one day to reveal a tall, pink haired firbolg, and a very suspicious blue tiefling at his side. Molly, dressed in the colorful coat he now uses only for work, and all of his delicate jewelry and makeup, doesn’t look up at first from the tarot cards he’s shuffling at his work table, a low structure made of sanded down and smoothed driftwood, which he had hidden some sequins and rhinestones in. 

“Come in, darlings, come in. What will it be today?” he asks, a hint of the suave performer from before seeping into his voice. 

“Do you read fortunes?” 

His hands slow as the question washes over him, and he’s taken back to Trostenwald, recalling the question posed to him by an excitable young cleric in a tavern, looking for a good time with some friends she’d barely met. He looks up, and he sees Caduceus and Jester looking back at him. Caduceus looks the same as he had in the dreams, if not a little more weary now, and Jester...she looks more grown. More sure of herself, her hands still at her sides rather than rifling through everything as he recalls she is wont to do. He stands, hands grasping at the coat as he tugs it shut as if it’s a robe, slowly approaching them where they stand in the middle of the shop. 

“I knew you were going to ask that,” he whispers softly, blinking away quiet tears. 

Jester lets out a choked sound, whether of happiness or relief, and then she’s grabbing onto Molly in a tight hug that almost bruises his ribs. He’d take every ounce of the pain to have her back in his life, even if she’s now sobbing into his collar, but he can’t blame her, because he’s crying too. He loses track of how much time passes with them crying on each other, each of them muttering half-baked thoughts that amount to little more than “I missed you so much” and “I’m so happy to see you again” before there’s a purposeful throat clear from beside them. 

Molly pulls back, wiping away the tears running down his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect-” 

“How long have you been alive? How long have you been in Nicodranas? Are you safe? Are you really you? How much do you remember? Where have you been? When did you come back? Why didn’t you find us sooner?” The questions all come at him from Jester, though they’re somewhat muffled as she herself hasn’t yet pulled off of his chest. 

“Um...well. I don’t know how long it’s been since I died, but I’ve been alive for the past five moons, but I only arrived in Nicodranas about a moon ago.” He notices Caduceus’ ears twitch at the odd way of keeping time, but Molly feels that it’s recognition of a kindred spirit rather than judgment. “Yes, I’m safe, and yes, I’m really me. I remember more than I did by this point after my last resurrection, but that’s because I was taken pretty much immediately to civilization and people who could help me. The Moonweaver, she...woke me herself. And took me to Zadash.” 

Jester gasps, standing up straight, not bothering to wipe the tears away from her face. “We spent two weeks in Zadash! Though that might have been before you, um…” She pauses now, and really looks at him in silence, before softly whispering, “You’ve changed.” 

Molly looks down, his tail winding around his leg again as he shuffles a bit in place. “Yes, ah, rediscovering yourself for the third time can do that to you.” 

“Who helped you?” It’s Caduceus who speaks this time, and Jester gasps again. 

“Oh! Sorry, Molly, this is - wait, is your name still Molly?” 

Molly laughs a little and nods. “Yes, it is. Weaver blessed me with that memory at the start.” 

Jester beams at him, and wraps her arm around him in a side hug. “Okay! Well, Molly, this is Clay, or Deuces, or The Deuce, Deucey, Cad-”

“Caduceus Clay,” Molly says, gently cutting Jester off. “It’s nice to meet you in this realm.”

Caduceus bows his head slightly in greeting. “Of course. You’re looking better. Less frantic and fearful.” 

“And you’re still as direct as ever,” Molly laughs. Jester sputters beside him, and he squeezes her to him. “I’ll explain later, we met in a kind of weird way.” 

“Prayer visions aren’t uncommon, though they do require collaboration on behalf of each participants patron. Obviously, the Wildmother and the Moonweaver share enough in common that they wished for us to meet. Multiple times,” Caduceus states. 

Jester narrows her eyes as she looks between the two of them, before asking, “Did you two...you know…” and making a crude gesture with her hands. 

Caduceus’ brow furrowed in obvious confusion, and Molly is amazed at how innocent this man has continued to be when traveling with the Mighty Nein for as long as he had been. 

“No, Jester, we didn’t. But I do have a favor to ask,” Molly says, turning the young cleric around to face him. 

“Yes, of course, anything!” 

“Bring the others here, tonight at 9:00. Ask Caleb when that will be, he knows at all times,” Molly instructs, before holding a finger up to her lips. “But don’t tell them that I’m here just yet. I want it to be a surprise...and I have to get ready.” 

Jester nods, her eyes wide. “Of course!” she says, partially muffled by the press of Molly’s finger to her lips. Then she thinks for a second, before leaning back a bit so Molly’s hand falls away. “But, um. When I say that you’ve changed, I don’t mean it in a bad way! You’re just kind of calmer now. It’s different, but still good. Oh! And I’ll bring bear claws tonight!” She grins at him, and Molly chuckles as he pats her on the head. 

The three of them spend the next few minutes catching up on surface level things, but when Jester starts looking around for things to nibble on, Molly sends them on their way to reconnect with the others, with a promise to bring them back. Then he’s alone in Moondrop Fortunes, and the relief that he feels makes him pinch himself, which unfortunately draws blood, but fortunately makes his thumb and forefinger claws glow a nice pale white. It’s a cool effect, one that he could maybe use for fortunes at some point, but for now he’s content to utilize the strange mix of cleric spells and bloodhunter magic he has at his disposal. 

The hours pass slowly, sauntering their way through Molly’s consciousness. He has a few readings that he does here and there, but none of the Mighty Nein so much as approach the door. The sun sets, which he watches from the balcony on the second story of his home, and then darkness falls, revealing more stars than he ever saw in Zadash. He envies Caleb and his ability to instinctively know what time it is; while he’s gotten extremely good at telling night hours by the position of the moon, it’s in waning now, and he’s still learning how to analyze the various stages. 

Perhaps next month he’ll have it down. 

Soon enough, however, there’s a knock on the door downstairs. Listening at the balcony, he can hear a cluster of voices. 

“Why are we even here, this place looks closed. And why do you have four orders of bear claws?”  _ Beau.  _

“Because! There’s something important here!”  _ Jester.  _

“Jester, I appreciate you doing this for us, but this seems a little too on-the-nose. I know you miss him - we all do - but we’ve had a long day and I’m not sure we have the time nor coin for this type of activity.”  _ Fjord.  _

“If they’re grumpy and have shiny things, that’ll make up for it. Don’t you worry.”  _ Nott.  _

Caduceus and Caleb remain silent, though for very different reasons, Molly is sure. He goes down the stairs, flicking his wrist and sending small silver lights onto the various stones he keeps mounted to the wall for this purpose. They make his shop seem otherworldly, but the silver is part of being a patron of the Moonweaver. He takes a steadying breath, then opens the door. 

The conversation outside abruptly comes to a halt, before he has the butt of Beau’s staff a mere inch from his chin, her stance shifted to attack. The only reason it didn’t connect is the fact that Caduceus is holding his own staff down atop Beau’s, keeping her from moving it up. 

“Jester-”

“Who the fuck are you?” Fjord is cut off by Beau’s biting question, and Molly gives her a small smile. 

“Molly. Please...please come in.” 

There’s a moment of tension that Jester happily breaks by sauntering into the doorway and giving Molly a tight hug once more. “I tried to tell you guys it was important!” 

Of everyone to approach next, Molly didn’t expect Nott to be the one, and he certainly didn’t expect her to jump up into his arms and hug him with her entire body. Hard sobs wrack through her small body, and it’s at this point that everyone else snaps out of their stupor. In a cluster of hugs and tears, the group makes their way inside Moondrop Fortunes. Molly brings them all upstairs to his living space, still carrying Nott in his arms, though she scrambles down once they enter his actual home. 

It’s fairly modest, but comfortable, as far as living quarters goes, and he knows that they expect something flashier of him. But if this isn’t enough to show them that something has changed, he’s not sure what will. He goes to serve tea, but Caduceus intercepts him, offering to make some for the group so Molly can catch up. He appreciates the offer, and while Caduceus is moving around in his kitchen, he plays twenty questions with the Mighty Nein as Jester delegates cinnamon bear claws to everyone present.

Molly answers all questions truthfully, or as truthfully as he can with what little information he knows. He explains his time with Fie and Novix, how he rediscovered his powers, and how he had decided to take up tarot again as a consistent from his past life to this one. He tells them that trying to remember what he’d done with them came in collections of senses, but nothing too detailed, and that the events surrounding his death were nothing but blissful darkness. “I think those will be revealed to me when they need to be. I’m not too keen to recall them right now, though. I don’t see how they would be helpful in my current life.” 

His statement is met with a few nods, though Nott tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy, and Caleb, who’s said nothing the entire night, finally speaks up with, “Well, I’m a firm believer in second starts, and third starts too, and if this is what it took for you to be happy with yourself, then we’re all the better for it.” 

It’s insightful in a way Molly wishes he could be, and it’s so quintessentially Caleb that Molly feels warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with the tea Caduceus serves to everyone. “Why thank you, Mister Caleb,” Molly murmurs around the lip of his cup.

Caleb blushes, his freckles standing out across his cheeks, and he looks away. 

“Molly,” Fjord asks, leaning forward in his chair. He’s not drinking any tea, but he still looks comfortable, more at ease with himself. It’s a far cry from the young half-orc Molly barely remembers, but it’s a sight that brings a smile to his lips. 

“Yes?” 

“I couldn’t help but notice the cards on your desk. If you couldn’t get ahold of us, how did you...I mean those are…” He trails off, making some ephemeral gesture with his hands that serves to convey nothing and everything at the same time. 

“Ah! Those, yes. The Moonweaver gifted those to me upon my awakening. She’d said that I had lived a fulfilling life, and that these were worth saving for me in this one. When I’d first woken up, you looked like how you did when I died.” He notices that both Beau and Caleb wince slightly when he says that he died, but he presses on regardless. “But after I had that prayer-dream with Caduceus, they changed to show you as you currently are.” 

“Wait, wait, back up a second. Deuce, you didn’t say anything about having some kind of dream about Molly, what the fuck, man,” Beau says from where she’s sprawled on one of the oversized cushions Molly keeps on the floor. 

“It was a prayer-dream, as Mr. Mollymauk said,” the firbolg responds with a gentle shrug. “We happened to be praying at the same time, and the Wildmother and the Moonweaver saw fit to put us into contact. It’s a form of divinity that transcends any magic in the Material Plane, but through that we were able to communicate.” 

“It’s how I knew you were in Nicodranas,” Molly explains. “Though I didn’t know much more than that.” 

“Huh. Hey, Jess, ever have one of those?” 

Jester shakes her head, her blue hair whipping around her horns. “Nope! The Traveler talks to me in a lot of ways, but I haven’t had any kinds of dreams with people in them. He’s very protective of me, I’m not sure he would act as some kind of sending stone for me.” 

“It’s a fair bit more complex than that,” Caduceus begins, and as he begins to tell Jester about the mechanics of such a thing - getting Fjords attention to, for reasons Molly doesn’t quite understand yet - the lavender tiefling stands and makes his way to the kitchen for a refill. He hears footsteps behind him, and he’s unsurprised to find Beauregard standing there, looking determined. 

“You died for me,” she says, her voice low but still intense. “You died and left us all behind. We were a  _ mess. _ ” 

“I knew you would fall apart without me,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work; Beau barely moves.

“You sacrificed yourself for me. I just...At that point, I was an asshole.”

“Was?”

Beau glares. “Yes,  _ was. _ I’ve changed, in no small way because of you. I just gotta know...why did you do that?”

“Because it was down to the last few of us standing, and out of everyone, I guess I thought you were the most necessary to continue. Fjord and Jester were much closer to you, and I was so deep in various lies, even to myself, I figured one more couldn’t hurt.”

“And what was it? What was the lie?”

Molly smirks, but it’s devoid of mirth. “That I was invincible.”

They stand in silence for a few moments. Beau seems to be processing this new genuine Molly the slowest out of everyone. He supposes that’s warranted; they’d had one of the most tumultuous relationships between all of the original Mighty Nein. Now, he’s not sure where he stands, but the more he talks to them, the more he feels like maybe there’s a chance that he could be incorporated again. Not the same, but better.

Pain explodes in his shoulder before a wave of numbness renders his entire left arm numb and dead. Beau’s tears finally fall, her arm still outstretched and her hand still clenched in a fist. “Fuck you. Don’t you ever do that fucking shit again, or I’ll be the one to dig you back up only to send you back down again.” 

Despite the dead arm, Molly wraps Beau in a hug as best he can, nuzzling her hair. “I missed you too, Beau.” 

The moment settles over them, before they realize that the conversation in the other room had fallen silent. Beau coughs and leaves, going into the living room, talking in her familiar false bravado. Molly gets his refill and joins them, the conversation blossoming in his wake. It continues for another 2 hours, a trade off on experiences. He learns that they fought a dragon, became pirates, accidentally lead a pirate revolution, and hunted down Fjord’s patron god. They tell him that Yasha is gone for now, but she’ll be back soon. 

All is almost as he left it, and he couldn’t ask for more. As the moon reaches her peak, the Mighty Nein begin to collect themselves to return to the Lavish Chateau, where Jester’s mother was putting them up. 

“You should really come over tomorrow! She’d love to see you, I told her about you when we first arrived. She’d love for you to read her fortune,” Jester sing-songs as she walks down the stairs beside Molly. 

“I’d love to, darling. She seems like a lovely woman. You speak so highly of her, I’d love to meet her,” Molly coos, squeezing Jester close. “Tell her to come by soon; or I can go to her, if she’s so inclined.” 

“Okay! Oh! How long will you be here?” By now they’re on the front step of Moondrop Fortunes. The rest of the Mighty Nein is outside, save for Jester in Molly’s arms. 

“Well, that’s a tough question. As of right now, this is my only plan. I’ll...we can talk tomorrow. I really don’t have an answer for you, unfortunately,” he responds. It’s quite a bit of pressure that he didn’t think he’d feel this soon, but life rarely waits until you’re ready. 

Jester doesn’t seem satisfied with this answer, but she’s corralled away easy enough by the rest of the group. Molly’s preparing for a night by himself to decompress from everything that’s transpired, when there’s a knock on the door. When he opens it, his heart almost leaps out of his chest.

“Caleb? What are you-” 

“I needed to say something. Something I haven’t said before, but I...Can I come in?” 

Molly blinks in shock, but moves out of the way to give Caleb entrance. The wizard steps in, his hands wringing together, and Molly doesn’t need  _ guidance  _ to know that something’s well and truly bothering him. It’s different than the other secrets in his life, but how exactly, the tiefling can’t tell.

“What’s got your mind, gorgeous?”

Caleb hesitates at the question. Molly can’t begin to imagine how such a simple question could stump such a dexterous, brilliant mind. In the silence, he studies the wizard before him. He’s stronger now, thicker than Molly recalled. He has a new scar up by his jaw, winding down into his clothes. His hair is longer, and whether it’s the fact that mud is hard to come by in the ocean or not, he’s cleaner than he remembered. He’s grown into himself, even at 33 years old, and Molly finds that old emotion burbling up.

“You, Mollymauk. You do.” Caleb sounds a bit like he’s rehearsed this, but Molly only finds it endearing. “I...I’ve thought about you. Been thinking about you, a lot, actually. What I would do or say when you came back.” 

Molly steps away from the door and moves to the area where he performs the readings, featuring that low table and a plush series of cushions meant to hold up to four people of various sizes. People tended to come in in groups, and making enough seats so everyone involved could witness the magic of the cards was one of the earliest business decisions Molly had ever made. 

“Come, sit down. There’s no reason to stand like strangers when we both know we’ve been more than that. Do you want tea?” Molly offers, trying to soothe. 

“Nein, I’m, uh. I’m okay.” Caleb obliges, sinking down with much more grace than Molly could recall. 

“You’ve changed, Caleb. You look more comfortable, and confident. It’s nice.” In a time of blunt passengers, it appears Caduceus and Jester weren’t the only ones who could speak their mind plainly. 

Caleb blushes once more. “Mollymauk, when you died, I never thought I’d forgive myself. I should have taught you how to attune to the Periapt better, to make sure that it would save you when you needed it the most. And I should have been more forthright with information and experiences that I had that would aid the group. Looking back, I...There are many things I find amiss. The things I kept from you are among the top.” 

Mollymauk nods in agreement, the small silver chains in his hair glinting in the Weaver-lit storefront around them. “I also have some things that I should have said the first time around. Not knowing that I’d get a second - technically third - chance at doing this, it is a mistake I don’t want to make again. Who do you want to go first?” 

“You may,” Caleb murmurs, extending a hand to him. It’s still wrapped, but with clean bandages, and Molly smiles softly. 

“Novix had bandages like that,” Molly explains as he holds Caleb’s hand. “I don’t know why, but I never saw him without them. I also don’t know a lot about you, Caleb. There are things that we never said to each other when we should have, and the time wasn’t right for either of us. I was lying and you were still reliving whatever memories haunted you. It...it wasn’t right. And I’m sorry for anything that I said or did that may have pushed you away. From me personally or from the idea of being open with the group.” 

His tail tries to twine around his leg, but considering he’s sitting on a cushion on the floor and his legs are crossed in front of him, it winds up mostly draping across his thigh. Looking away from the awkward display, he meets Caleb’s gaze and heaves a sigh. “Having a new perspective that’s  _ not  _ shaped by a carnival made me take different things into account, and...Remember when Jester cast that truth spell when everyone was interrogating me about my past?” 

“Ja, of course. How could I forget?” There’s a joke there, and Molly watches as a slow smile drifts across Caleb’s face. Molly smiles in turn, squeezing Caleb’s hand, and they share the moment like a pair of fools. 

“Right, well. When Jester asked me if I found anyone in the group attractive, and I said yes, I wasn’t lying. And in that dark place, where the fire set you off...those two things are more connected than I thought. Much more than when I accused you of stealing from the group, I. I remember fragments but my conversations with you are some of the strongest memories. I’d like to think that that’s for a reason.” Here it comes, the moment where Molly puts his heart on the line. He’s preparing to have to prove how he’s changed, how the extravagant, hedonistic, colorful bastard from before had calmed in these past few months. He’s still colorful and extravagant, but in a mature way. He accepts the voids in his memory and does his best to live his life despite them, not to cover them up. 

Caleb beats him to it with a direct squeeze to his hand. “Mollymauk, I was going to tell you something similar. I...I wasn’t in a good place when we met. When all of us met, I was content to keep using you as a cover for my own schemes and plans. I was a con artist for the longest time, and with Nott and I, I finally felt safe. It wasn’t until Yasha, Fjord, and Jester were captured that I realized I had grown attached to you all as individuals. And it wasn’t until after we...until after you left that I realized I had grown attached to you specifically. Perhaps more than would be advised by anyone else.” 

“I wanted to tell you a lot of things, but I was scared. I still think I’m a monster for the things that I’ve done, and you always seemed to know so much, I didn’t want to approach as a shambling mess of a man and be turned away, because I didn’t think I could take it. I wasn’t strong enough. With you gone, we had to do the best we could, and for a long while, that wasn’t the best at all. Caduceus had only just met us, signed up for this journey with us, and then nearly died, like four times. It was so much, and through it all, I just wanted someone who could be counted on for a laugh or for a smile.” 

Here, his voice softens. The wizard pauses, before pressing on, murmuring, “Jester stopped drawing in her journal for a while. Nott was even harsher on herself when she got the itch if there weren’t any suitably grumpy people around to steal from. I threw myself into my books and magic. Yasha...” 

Molly squeezes his hand. That’s a conversation for another time, and Caleb thankfully lets it rest. 

“We missed you, to say the least. I most of all. You have a way with people I could only emulate when I was trying to steal from them. You were a bit of a conman yourself, but you still made people happy. You made  _ me  _ happy.” 

“And you made me think before I acted,” Molly adds, watching Caleb beseechingly. “You made me think about honesty and living for another being in a different light. Oh please, you and Nott were inseparable during the first few days we knew you. It was a package deal.” 

Caleb’s disbelieving look falters, giving way to begrudging acceptance. “I suppose so.” 

“You were! And we were all better for having known you for it.” Molly smiles, and Caleb turns his attention directly towards him. It’s the same intensity that he directs towards his books, towards his spells and scrolls, and Molly finds himself overwhelmed by it all. It’s beyond what he ever thought he’d receive, but he simultaneously basks in it. He had nothing left to hide, no shadows he’d be uncomfortable with Caleb exploring. 

“...Your teeth are sharper,” Caleb mutters. 

Molly laughs, genuine and rich, and Caleb joins him. “And my hair is longer and my nails are too, but this is after continuous filing. When I first woke up, they were like three inches. It was insane.” 

“Even after a second incarnation, you are still just as striking as before,” the wizard murmurs, reaching up a careful hand. Molly feels him trace over the delicate jewelry, much better metal than the old adornments he had worn. Those long, elegant fingers work their way down the loose braid curving over his shoulder and into his lap, following the slope of his horn and brushing over the cut of his jaw. 

Molly reaches up in kind, gently tracing his claws down the scruff on Caleb’s face, watching as he doesn’t shy away from the touch, but rather leans into it. The moment hangs between the two of them, infinite possibilities of direction, before they both come to a single decision. 

Their first kiss is chaste and simple, nothing more than a soft brush of lips to test the waters. The second and third kisses were solid and true, reaffirming that the other was willing and able to meet halfway. The fourth through twentieth kisses were deep and all encompassing, ending up with Molly pinned on his own cushions by Caleb, who seemed to want to take Molly apart, piece by piece, studying each mechanism and how they fit into the being that was Mollymauk Tealeaf. Molly was content to let it happen for as long as they wanted, and shortly after that, he stopped counting.

 

* * *

 

The next morning is met with more questions than answers as the Mighty Nein meets up with Molly at the Lavish Chateau in the Opal Archways district. He doesn’t wear the ostentatious coat - that’s reserved for work - but instead wears black leggings with his thigh high boots from before, and a white silk shirt. Fie’s fashion sense may have rubbed off on him a little much, but it works for the warm weather this far in the south of Wildemount. 

Molly meets Marion Lavorre, who is everything the songs had said and more, and is treated to more fine food than he’d had in his entire third life. It’s great to catch up with everyone, and it’s quite nice to let Caleb gently trace patterns on his knee beneath the table, but when Jester asks him if he’ll be coming with them, he’s not sure where to begin. 

“I...think that depends. I actually have a lease that’s for the whole year, because I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming back any time soon. In all seriousness though,” Molly says when Beau snorts at his obvious cover, “I doubt that I’d be of much use to you right now. I can’t really remember how to fight, and I haven’t done any swordwork or knife work at all in this life, unless meals count. I don’t want to join with you, take your resources, and be unable to protect myself. Also, my uh...magic is changing, a little bit.” 

The table erupts into various comments and questions, until Fjord clears his throat. “What exactly does that mean, Molly?” 

“Well, I can still do the blood magic that I had before, with the ice and the glowing,” he says in a way that he knows doesn’t inspire confidence. “But lately I’ve been getting more prayer-dreams and a sort of...high, I suppose? When I pray.” 

“Could just be the incense,” Nott chimes in from where she’s stuffing bacon under her mask. 

“That is true,” Molly admits. “But it’s like...more than that. My readings are more accurate, I feel like I can observe more, things like that. I’m not even sure if I could do half of the damage I’m used to doing, and I’m not...not really sure I’d want to. I miss you lot, and I miss traveling with you, but there’s something that won’t let me leave to go on these journeys with you.” 

The table is silent for a second, before Nott asks, “You mean, like how Yasha has to leave sometimes, or…?” 

“Not quite that extreme, no,” Molly says after a moment of deliberation. “More like I’m not sure how much use I’ll be.” 

Again, the table erupts into noise, but this time it’s various clamors of people saying reasons he should be back, and the good use he’d get, even if he stayed in the back with Caleb during fights. Caleb squeezes his knee whenever he brings up not going forward with them, and Molly returns the gesture with a gentle squeeze to Caleb’s forearm. 

“Listen. How much longer are you planning to be in Nicodranas?” 

The Mighty Nein look at each other, making it clear to Molly that they have no clue how much longer they’ll be in this port city. 

“Okay, well, how about this. I stay here, in a place where you know where I am, and where I am able to be reached, and if you’re ever back in the area you can come visit me. And if you’re heading back into the Empire, or heading to another continent,  _ then  _ we can broach the topic of me going with you. In that time, I’ll practice more and hopefully I won’t be  _ as  _ helpless the next time you ask.” 

_ If there is a next time  _ goes unspoken. 

Fjord and Beau look at each other before nodding to his proposal. “Sounds solid enough for me,” Beau says before taking a swig of ale. Jester looks a little bit saddened, but both she and Nott eventually agree that it makes the most sense. Caduceus doesn’t seem perturbed, but Mollymauk gets the sense that he’ll be seeing Caduceus the most out of anyone in the New Nein, as he’s taken to calling them in his head. 

Only Caleb remains mute, ignoring even when Nott nudges him to encourage a response. Molly tugs on Caleb’s sleeve and stands away from the table, the wizard following him. They go outside into the sunshine, and Molly loops his arm in Caleb’s before murmuring, “Come on, let’s take a walk.” 

Together, they make their way through most of the Opal Archway district in silence, Molly determined to walk off the tension holding Caleb so tightly. As they pass a dim alley, Caleb pulls Molly into it and holds him close, muttering a string of Zemnian. 

“Caleb, darling, I can’t understand you,” the tiefling mutters, trying to gently untangle himself from Caleb’s arms without getting any part of his hair or horns caught. 

“I know what we have is new, but I don’t want to lose you. I know that you staying in safety is the best bet for that, but I am a selfish man with selfish desires, and I want you by my side, no matter what.” Caleb cradles Molly’s face and presses their foreheads together, bright blue eyes closed as he tries to control himself. Molly splays his hands on Caleb’s chest, gently shushing him as he leans into a soft kiss. 

“Then come home to me,” he offers quietly. “After your adventures on the sea, come back to me. I’ll be waiting.” 

Caleb holds his breath in the quiet morning light, before pulling Molly into another devoted kiss.  _ This is what loving Caleb Widogast is, _ Molly thinks.  _ Maybe not forever, but it is the right now, and that’s the most important.  _

Loving Caleb Widogast is strong emotions shown with gentle kisses and even gentler touches. Loving Caleb Widogast is stolen moments but gifted treasures. Loving Caleb Widogast is something that Mollymauk Tealeaf has been doing for two lifetimes, and will continue to do for as long as his heart shall beat. 

(Caleb agrees to return home to Molly, and it’s not too much longer after that that they come clean to the New Nein about their relationship. Marion gets a reading for free, but Molly somehow winds up with 50 gold pieces tucked into his card pouch afterwards. It’s the start of a new life; one Molly wouldn’t trade for a million do-overs. 

That night, in prayer, the Moonweaver comes to him. She says nothing, merely shares companionable silence with Molly, but when he comes back to himself there’s something new in his room. Resting atop his coat are two silver rings with deep sapphire gems around one, and clear diamonds around the other. 

“For your love,” a soft female voice murmurs from somewhere in the dark. Molly gingerly picks up the rings and holds them close to his chest, bowing his head in thanks. 

This truly is his most blessed life.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are quite loved and appreciated! there may be sequels or more exploration of this resurrection verse of mine, and i'd love to hear any questions or observations you have
> 
> as always, reach out to me on twitter @ weavermooon if you want to talk in more detail than just the comment section of ao3 (but i'd love that too!)


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